Monday, October 24, 2011

Campaign Challenge #3: The Awakening

Write a blog post in 300 words or less, excluding the title. The post can be in any format, whether flash fiction, non-fiction, humorous blog musings, poem, etc. The blog post should show:
·         that it’s morning, 
·         that a man or a woman (or both) is at the beach
·         that the MC (main character) is bored
·         that something stinks behind where he/she is sitting
·         that something surprising happens.
Just for fun, see if you can involve all five senses AND include these random words: "synbatec," "wastopaneer," and "tacise."   (NB. these words are completely made up and are not intended to have any meaning other than the one you give them).

The Awakening

Rocking back on his butt, knees hugged to his chest, Rick turned narrowed eyes at Kristina. The sunrise glow added an orange hue to her placid face; the warmth of it touched his strawberry curls. After a few minutes, Rick exaggerated a sigh, but instead of engaging his silent partner, it sucked up a bubble of acid from his stomach that burst at the back of his throat.
Smacking his hand against his chest, Rick sputtered. His nose switched against the acrid tinge on the wind. His guts lurched in protest.
Hitting the 3636 last night had been a bad idea. The drinks might be cheap, but they were synbatic.
                “Kriiiiiisssss, what are we doing here at this tacise moment?”
                No signs of life. Rick slouched forward. The offspring produced from “exact” and “precise” one night after too many beers always made her laugh.              
                “Dude, I got wastopaneered last night,” he muttered rubbing his eyes.  When he blinked them open, they caught on a strange sight.
                A young girl seemed to be rising from the surf.
                No, not a girl, a child.
                Curly black hair framed a porcelain visage, with glittering black eyes and rosy cheeks. A doll trudging her way through the seaweed to the shore.
                Rick leapt to his feet, “Kris, there’s a fucking kid in the water.”
                Glancing down at her, his next word stuck in his throat. She had tilted her head back, so that her lovely face, with tears rolling down her cheeks, seemed to almost admire him.
“I’m sorry, Rick. But she wants through and that’s impossible if we are both alive.”
                Whipping his head around, Rick searched the water for the child.
                But she wasn’t in the water any longer.  She stood right in front of him, smiling. And she was bone dry.